


Denial

by cupidmarwani



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Frottage, Homophobia, Hurt No Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, emotion, repressed catholic will halstead, sex worker!Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:42:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupidmarwani/pseuds/cupidmarwani
Summary: Will is straight, but has a habit of watching a faceless man get himself off.-“Your videos. I’ve uh, I’ve seen them.”“Okay.”“I’m straight.”At that, Connor starts laughing. It’s not the sultry one he uses in videos, but something honest and open, and Will likes it even better. It’s genuine. “Dr. Halstead, if you watch my porn and just kissed me, I don’t think you’re straight.”





	Denial

Here’s the thing: Will Halstead is straight.

Really, he is, no kidding. He likes women, and their chests, and their legs, and all that. He’s had girlfriends, and even had sex with one of them, once, when he was in med school. Her bed had been squeaky and the mattress too small, and the whole time he looked at this poster she had on her wall. It was for the Princess Bride. Buttercup and Wesley together, under beautiful text he could barely see because the lights were off. 

He does not, on the other hand, like men. He has no interest in the way their shoulders move when they walk, or the veins on their hands, or their smiles, or the sharp angles of their jaws, or the tenor of their voices, or the way their bottom lips shadows over their chins, or the curve of- anyways. The point is, Will Halstead is completely, one hundred percent heterosexual. 

But the other thing is, he follows this account on instagram, prncehrts. It’s some guy that never shows his face, just photos from the neck down. Some of his chest. His legs. His ass. He has a little muscle, but not enough to be overbearing or falsified. In some pictures he has the faint outline of abs, but in others his stomach looks soft, like the kind made to be bitten and covered in violet marks. Not that Will thinks about that of course. 

And of course, there’s prncehrts’ other account, on some blogging platform called tumblr. The premium one. The one that Will pays $15/month to follow because these are photos too explicit to go anywhere else, like the ones that showcase his soft cock lying against one of his marked up thighs, or those that show him on his hands and knees, a hand wrapped around a silicon looking purple toy practically dripping with lube.

Will has the subscription for the express purpose of making sure prncehrts is safe. There are a lot of gay men- not that Will is at all one of them- who don’t always know what they’re doing, and could hurt themselves. It’s a matter of safety that Will watches. His body reacts, sometimes, but it just does that because of course he reacts to naked bodies. Because Will isn’t gay. 

He watches, though, at least once a week. Refreshes prncehrts’ blog to see if there’s anything new, and takes a look at whatever comes up. Sometimes it’s a picture, sometimes a video, sometimes both and/or more than one.

For about five months, Will watches, listens, and vehemently reminds himself that he’s not gay and there’s nothing gay about this, even when he sometimes has to press the heel of his hand between his legs in an effort to relieve the pressure that comes just because his body reacts to nudity. Just prncehrts’ though, not any of the girlfriends he’s had in the past, including the one he had sex with once before breaking up with her because there wasn’t a real spark. And for five months, he doesn’t think about the real person who makes these videos until he clicks on one of prncehrts kneeling in front of the camera, everything above his smile cut off.

“Hey, so I was hoping for a little help,” prncehrts says, and his voice is so much deeper than most of the moans Will has come to associate with him. “You all know how much I adore Edward.” He holds up the silicone toy he uses so often, and is apparently named Edward. “But unfortunately, he’s torn a bit right here. So, I’m in the market for something new. I’ve got a wishlist in the caption of this video of some stuff I’ve been meaning to try out. Buy it for me and I’ll make something just for you. I promise.”

And Will doesn’t think about it. He clicks the wishlist, and buys the first thing on it, and leaves the username of the account he had to make to have access to prncehrts' premium accound in the “messages” section. He finds himself paying for overnight shipping, too. He just wants the best for this man he’s never met, even though he should probably be saving that money for a rainy day. He’s not off badly, he’s got plenty of money, but not enough that he should be splurging like this when he already has to budget every month for the fees to just look at prncehrts. 

When it arrives the next day, he gets two notifications: one from his amazon account, saying the package was delivered, and several hours later, one from prncehrts over DM. Of course, he doesn’t look at it until his shift is over and he’s home, at which point he doesn’t hurry to see what he’s been sent. And he doesn’t kick off his scrubs before throwing himself on the bed, he just gets rid of them because he’s tired and wants to relax. 

He taps on the little thumbnail, and the video fills his screen.

“Forgive the mess, sweetheart. Just got a new place.”

Will waves a hand dismissively, even though he’s watching a video recorded quite a while ago. Prncehrts is laying on a mattress on the floor instead of his usual luxurious sheets, but it doesn’t matter much. He’s still beautiful, and when he starts rubbing a lubed finger against his hole, his muscles tense and that soft stomach turns back to muscle, and that would be a good place to put his mouth too. The thought keeps coming to him, and he isn’t sure why. Will could never have sex with a man. He’s just not interested. He doubts he’d be able to get it up, he thinks, even as he lets his own fingers trace against the bulge in his boxers.

He watches the video, start to finish, twice. The path the video takes, the sounds that drip from prncehrts’ mouth, the way the toy looks inside of him, none of it matters, and neither does the new stain on the inside of Will’s underwear. He’s just not gay, so it couldn’t matter, even though he falls asleep with an image of soft lips and the working of a capable hand slipping against the back of his eyelids. It’s there all night, paints itself in front of his eyes again in the morning. He can’t stop thinking about it. And then he starts in on taking over the movement of the toy himself, pushing down on the small of prncehrts’ back and listening to those moans in real life, not just on a tinny video clearly not made professionally.

Maybe he should stop watching these videos. He shakes his head to clear it and goes for his morning coffee, wishing he had thought to completely pull off his underwear instead of just kicking them halfway down his legs last night. A shower, and coffee, and his scrubs, and he can go to work to think about things other than the fact that he needs to reevaluate watching prncehrts so much, considering he’s not gay. At this point, it’s just weird. 

Then he gets to work, and doesn’t think about it for a while, because things are busy like they always are, especially with the new ED opening. It’s christened with a train crash, of all things, and some hotshot new doctor comes riding in doing chest compressions on a gurney, yelling out orders, and Will freezes where he stands because he knows that voice too well. Just twelve hours ago it apologized to him for the messy background. A few minutes after that came a very sincere, breathy, thank you. 

The new doctor is prncehrts. He knows what the new doctor’s penis looks like before he knows his name. Will thinks he’s going to throw up. Instead, he gets around to actually helping with the influx of patients, and doesn’t even have time to think about it until he gets off work much later. When he has an ER full of trauma patients, they’re more important than remembering all the different positions (Will almost laughs when he thinks that particular word) he’s seen his new colleague.

After it all, however? After, he can’t get it out of his mind. Prncehrts, or rather, Dr. Connor Rhodes, is more stunning in real life. He has a good smile, and kind eyes, and he’s tall and Will’s eyes are drawn to him. But it’s just a matter of curiosity, because, again, Will isn’t gay. He knows better. He wants to see exactly how much different Connor looks in person, but just out of some sort of curiosity he can absolutely control. Will is the master of self control, especially when it comes to absolutely ridiculous thoughts like these.

Except he goes home that night, rewatches his private video, and comes in his boxers again.

He keeps up the routine, very intentionally not mentioning the connection he’s made. It’s not the kind of thing a person just says- “Hey, by the way, I know you have a side business selling nudes and I bought you a vibrating dildo which you sent me a video of you getting yourself off with. Oh, yeah, and I get off on it sometimes, but in a straight way, because I just happen to get off to the sight of any naked body, not just yours in particular. Hope this doesn’t make things awkward!” Not exactly light chit chat.

So Will doesn’t say anything, even when he watches Connor start flirting with one of the other surgeons, and then they kiss at work, and then there comes the day that prncehrts posts a new video of Connor being fucked by a slight woman with fairly short auburn hair. Fucked by, not fucking. With vague fascination, he watches her fuck him with a strap on, and listens to the needy moans it earns. But he doesn’t finish the video, because there’s this feeling in his gut of wrong. Watching the video suddenly feels wrong. He isn’t sure why, or what about it is different besides the woman appearing, but all in all it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It's a short video, a teaser, for the full one available on her own premier blog. Will almost pays the fee to see the whole thing, but can't bring himself to. Something about it isn't right. 

For three days afterward, Will feels weird about this whole thing. Tells himself he should stop watching, because he's straight and so is Connor and it's not the sort of thing a straight man does. For three whole days, his routine of looking and touching and thinking is disrupted, and he may be a little pent up when Connor shoves him against the wall of an elevator and argues with him, and his lips are against Will's ear as he speaks. 

He doesn’t process the words being said, just the sound of Connor’s voice and the feel of his body and he melts. It’s easy to melt for him. And Connor definitely notices, but before Will has time to panic, Connor moves and then they’re face to face. Millimeters apart. And Will has studied these lips, studied the hands on his waist.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Will nods, and just like that, Connor is kissing him. It’s like he’s imagined, not that he’s put any thought into this at all. He’s straight. He’s straight, and he’s kissing prncehrts and hands he’s intimately familiar with slip beneath his shirt and stroke along the bottom of his rib cage. This is wrong. Wrong. It feels perfect, but it’s wrong, and Will pushes at Connor’s chest and looks anywhere but at him.

“Your videos. I’ve uh, I’ve seen them.”

“Okay.”

“I’m straight.”

At that, Connor starts laughing. It’s not the sultry one he uses in videos, but something honest and open, and Will likes it even better. It’s genuine. “Dr. Halstead, if you watch my porn and just kissed me, I don’t think you’re straight.”

The elevator dings and the door opens back to the ED, because Connor wouldn’t let him go to the clinical trial ward. “I’ve got a patient to check up on.”

“Will-”

“I’m busy.”

He walks too quickly, his lips tingling with what he just did. He shouldn’t have let Connor kiss him. He shouldn’t have mentioned what he’s seen. He shouldn’t have watched any of the videos in the first place. He’s ruined everything, because he can never talk to Connor again. He’ll have to find a new job. Everything is screwed up and Will is a good three seconds from having a complete meltdown.

Except before he can even go to a patient, Connor grabs his arm and makes him stop. “Will. Listen. What happened, we can ignore it, but-”

“I’m not gay. So yeah, we can ignore what you did to me.”

It’s like a switch has been flipped. “What I ‘did to you?’ What the fuck does that mean?”

Will should shut his mouth. He should walk away. He should stop, for just a moment at the very least, but he can’t because deep down, he’s scared. He’s not gay. No can ever think he is, because Will would lose everything. His family, his friends, his job. He isn’t. He’s not gay. He’s absolutely not gay. 

“I asked first-”

“No,” Will argues, “you said you were going to kiss me. You didn’t give me a choice.”

“You nodded, you kissed me back-”

“Yeah, because I didn’t wanna get the shit beat out of me by some pushy homo-”

“Wow. Fuck you, Halstead.”

“I just told you, I’m not gay. So leave me the fuck alone.”

This time when Will turns to storm away, Connor doesn’t stop him. He knows he crossed a line, that he shouldn’t have said anything, but he’s not gay. Nothing he’s ever done has been indicative of that, and it’s not his fault that Connor made assumptions because he’s gay. Or maybe not, because he had been fooling around with that woman in the video Will saw a few days ago. Who cares? Will is straight, and he’s going to put this whole day, including the issue with his patient, behind him with as much alcohol as he can drain into his system without giving himself alcohol poisoning. And he absolutely won’t be checking prncehrts tonight.

Less than an hour later, however, Will finds himself being called to Ms. Goodwin’s office. Connor is sitting in one of the chairs, arms crossed, one leg bouncing anxiously. 

“A patient reported something very concerning to me, Dr. Halstead. He said that you, quote, ‘accused Dr. Rhodes of forcing you to kiss him and called him a homo.’ Is that true?”

“That’s what happened, yes.”

“We don’t tolerate homophobia at this hospital, Dr. Halstead, as I’m sure you’re aware,” she starts. 

Will doesn’t let her get that far. “But you tolerate him assaulting me?”

“Dr. Rhodes told me his side of the story, and the cameras back it up. You nodded when he asked permission, you pulled him closer. If you have… feelings for Dr. Rhodes, or are exploring your sexuality, that’s one thing, but your language was inappropriate.”

“So what, you’re going to write me up?”

“Dr. Rhodes specifically asked me not to. Why, I don’t know. But I don’t ever want to hear about this again, from either of you, am I clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” they both say, and they’re dismissed for now, but Will feels like he’s going to throw up because he hates being reprimanded, and absolutely hates feeling as though he’s disappointed an authority figure.

“Next time you have a crisis,” Connor says before they go their separate ways, “don’t use me as your little experiment and accuse me of… whatever that was.”

Just like that, they don’t interact for the last couple hours of Will’s shift, thankfully, and he’s able to go home and drink in the dark. And when he gets the buzz of a notification that prncehrts’ instagram, which is more suggestive than outright sexual, has posted again. He shouldn’t click on it, especially given what happened today. 

But Will doesn’t have much self control, and he opens the notification anyways to a photo of Connor’s chest, starting just below his jaw and going all the way down to follow where his hair thickens into an obvious happy trail that would be fun to trace with Will’s fingers. He never would, but he has the thought. 

_ Rough day. Livestream on my premium tonight to help destress? _

All the comments are affirmatives, emojis, dirty words that make Will feel like his chest is folding in on himself and he isn’t entirely sure why. He also isn’t entirely sure why he opens up his computer to the premium account and joins the livestream, which hasn’t quite started yet. Connor is just kneeling in front of the camera, hands folded on his thighs and covering his crotch almost modestly. 

The chat is going a mile a minute. Compliments. Demands. Will’s never said anything in these before, and isn’t about to start now, but he feels like he should say something. He has to say something. He doesn’t, though, he just watches.

“I’m gonna be honest with you all,” Connor says. Well, he’s not Connor, Will thinks. He’s prncehrts. They have different personalities. Act differently. “I’m not doing this stream for you, or for me. I’ve got this friend- acquaintance more like. Apparently, he’s one of you. He likes to watch.” Connor pauses, probably scanning the chat. “Yes, yes, I know, I’m not giving you a show yet. Be patient. He and I had an interesting day, and I got this feeling that he’d be watching. Are you watching?”

“I’m watching,” Will says in the silence of his bedroom. “Always.”

“This is a stupid idea, but you know, I figured I might as well have some fun. I'll be taking requests tonight from anyone who gives them, but you know, if you admit you're watching, I'll just listen to you. I know you want that, don't you? That's why you watch. So now's your chance."

It's obviously baiting. Connor wants to prove that Will isn't straight, that there's something wrong with him, that he’s not what he should be. He shouldn’t do this. He should close out of the window. Instead, he holds his phone tightly and debates sending Connor a text. It would be so easy. But the fact is, Will isn’t gay, and it’s one thing to just look, but another entirely to dictate what happens.

He’s still watching, though, when Connor begins taking commands from the chat and starts touching himself, shifting restlessly into the touch of his own hand, a hand that had felt blisteringly hot on Will’s skin only a few hours ago. Every slightest movement is mesmerizing, but nothing as much so as the way Connor keeps biting his lips around the softest moans. 

“C’mon. Text me, call me. You know I’ll answer it. Whatever you’re scared of, don’t be.”

Connor stops his hand movements and whimpers, clearly following someone’s instructions in the chat. A lot of his viewers like to see him desperate. But if Will was there, that’s not what he’d be like. He’d just want to make Connor feel good, make him smile and moan and be happy. Not that Will has ever thought about what it would feel like, or would he would do given the opportunity.

Will picks up his cell phone and his fingers dance over the keypad without permission. He can’t help himself. He types, and presses send, and then drops his phone before he can think about it any more. All he does is watch. About a minute later, there’s an audible buzz on the livestream, and Connor picks up his phone.

“Aww, guys,” he says, “my dear Romeo just sent me his address. I guess that means we’re finished for now. But I promise, next video will be lots of fun.”

Blowing one last kiss to the camera, Connor ends the livestream and Will slams his computer shut. What did he do? His lungs aren’t working, and he doesn’t know why he did that because he’s not fucking gay. He should text Connor back and tell him not to come over, or clean up his apartment, or do something other than sit here, still in his scrubs, his phone in one hand and a half bottle of beer in the other. 

For fifteen minutes, he stays there in indecision until someone knocks on his door, and he knows it’s Connor. He shouldn’t open the door. All of this was a mistake and he’s about to cry. But he goes to the door nonetheless. Smooths down his shirt. Opens the front door to reveal Connor standing there in a tee shirt and sweatpants. There’s no smile on his face.

“I was watching.”

“No kidding.” Connor strolls inside and throws himself down on the couch like he belongs here. He does, in a sense. He was invited. “I knew you would be.”

Will sits down on the coffee table across from him, still holding his beer bottle loosely. “Listen, I uh, I don’t think I want you to, uh, to- to-”

“You think I’d walk in here and just take off my pants, let you fuck me over your kitchen counter?”

“I…”

He laughs that genuine laugh again, the one that fills Will with warmth. “Listen. I get it. You’re repressed as fuck and I’m your nice little experiment and you never actually meant to meet me in person. It’s awkward. If you wanna watch my videos, look at my pictures, then by all means, since you’re paying me to look. But I don’t much appreciate whatever your little meltdown was today, got that? I’m willing to help you out, if you really do wanna ‘explore’ or whatever. But no more bullshit. If I help you, if we fool around, no more of that ‘I’m not gay’ crap.”

“But I’m not.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “And yet, you still watched the livestream.”

Will leans forward a little, enough to reach out a hand and cup Connor’s face. It’s warm, his stubble rough, and his eyes so soft and affectionate. Or something like that. No one has ever really looked at Will like that, except maybe the ex-girlfriend he shared one dull night with in his college days. There’s still a part of him that screams this is wrong, but a louder voice tells him this is the most natural thing he’s ever done.

“You’re in charge here. What do you want?”

He gets off the table to kneel in front of Connor and kiss him, this time without pretenses. It’s a strange feeling, but it makes him feel warm from his lips to his toes and everywhere in between. And better yet, Connor kisses him back, and it’s perfect. This is perfect.

Then it ends. Not because he wanted it to, but because Connor has decided to sit up properly, and he looks so beautiful with pink cheeks and swollen lips and blown wide pupils, all the things that the camera doesn’t show. Here, there’s no ambiguity on what’s happening, and every choice has been placed in Will’s hands so he can’t claim later that it wasn’t his fault or his desire.

“Can I… Can I touch you?”

“Where?” Connor asks softly. 

Instead of coming out of his mouth, the words stick like peanut butter and Will can’t make himself say it. He gestures at Connor’s lower stomach, hoping it’s good enough.

“You want to touch my dick?”

Has to be crass, doesn’t he? Will nods, and Connor takes one of his wrists gently and guides it to the crotch of his sweatpants. There’s a bulge beneath the fabric, but he’s not entirely hard yet. Carefully, Will curls his fingers around it and moves his hand just a bit, like he was rubbing himself off through his clothes because it can’t be that different. Of course, he feels Connor slowly get hard, hears his breathing get heavier and faster.

“Just like that, Sunshine,” 

Those words shoot down Will’s spine, and he asks, “Can you kiss me again?”

Connor immediately acquiesces, kisses him with a little more intensity. It’s nice, but Will craves more. He wants to be closer, touch more, do more, and for once his brain isn’t reminding him all the things that are wrong with what he’s doing right now. It feels good, and he needs just a little bit more, but he isn’t sure what that would mean.

“You wanna sit in my lap? Might be more comfortable.”

Yes, that sounds wonderful, sounds perfect. Will nods, and suddenly he’s being lifted into Connor’s lap and he can feel, against his ass, how hard Connor is, and that’s something he did. He caused that. With his own hand. In all honesty, Will doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he remembers that in a lot of videos Connor likes to grind against things, so maybe he could be one of those. He squirms a little, not entirely sure of what he’s doing, which makes Connor grab his hips tightly and throw his head back against the couch and make the most intoxicating sound Will thinks he’s ever heard.

“Do that again.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Connor says breathlessly. Now he’s the one moving, lifting his hips off the couch and rubbing himself against Will’s ass. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes?”

Connor stops moving altogether, which is the worst possible thing that could have happened, in Will’s opinion. “Is that a question or an answer?”

“Yes, please touch me.”

“Look at you, so polite.”

He kisses Will again, and then slides a hand between them to wrap around Will’s cock, his palm almost stiflingly hot through the thin fabric of his scrubs. It’s like all the times he’s touched himself, but more, because this is someone else’s hand. This is Connor’s hand, specifically. There’s another man here, touching his dick, rubbing a thumb against the head in a way that has him struggling not to moan, but Will is straight. He doesn’t like men. At this moment, he isn’t sure if he wants to keep going or jump away and throw up into the sink. His chest is fluttering like a butterfly’s wings in a storm.

“What happens next?” he asks between breathless kisses, which, of course, makes Connor laugh all over again.

“Whatever you want. We can just do this, we can stop, we can get naked. It’s all up to you.”

There’s nothing to hide behind now. If Will wants something, he has to ask, and he almost doesn’t want to because it’s easier to just stop now. But he doesn’t want to. He slips his hands under Connor’s shirt and just feels, because he can touch and there’s no reason not to. The hair on his chest is more wiry than soft, he notes, and keeps touching because he can, and he’s allowed to do whatever he chooses right now.

He could come like this. It’s embarrassing as hell, but he might, in his pants, the way he does when rolling his hips into his palm while watching Connor’s videos. The real thing is different, especially the way Connor touches him, the way he feels still grinding up against Will’s ass and moaning without pretense because this is not a show designed to please a viewer. Yet again, he finds himself in love with the real Connor, not the version of him that he sells online.

“I wanna make- I wanna make it good for you,” Will admits. “How do I do that?”

“This feels good enough-”

Will groans and presses his hands harder against Connor’s chest. “I don’t care about ‘good enough.’ I want to- how do I do more?"

“Are you asking if you can fuck me?”

“I don’t know?”

“Do you even have lube?”

He shakes his head, which gets Connor smiling at him again, and it’s blinding. Life changing. “Like I said when I got here, we’re not doing that tonight. I’ll help you get off, but that’s as far as we’re going for now. Okay?”

For now is an implication of more to come later, that Connor will give him the opportunity to do more than whatever is happening now. Will won’t take it, but the thought feels nice. He nods and keeps feeling, touching, taking as Connor makes both of them feel good in a way Will has never experienced before in his life.

“Connor…”

“Don’t. Whatever stupid shit you’re gonna ask me, don’t.”

“No, I- it um, I think…”

Connor rolls his eyes. “You’re going to come?”

Nodding, Will shuts his eyes and focuses on the way all of this feels, the way it overwhelms him. The way Connor takes care of him. He doesn’t have to think, just this once. Instead, he thinks about the way it feels to be touched, to touch, to know that he can do this because it’s good and maybe, just this once, Will deserves something that’s good. Connor doesn’t hesitate, or stop. He keeps touching, keeps making Will feel like he’s on cloud nine, and then the sensations crest and the next thing he knows his eyes are squeezed shut and his face is against Connor’s, cheek to cheek, touching, and it’s perfect.

Then it’s over, but Connor hasn’t stopped moving. He’s still rolling his hips up into Will, still breathing heavy and still needing to be taken care of, and Will panics because he’s past the moment of ecstacy, and he’s here, in a man’s lap, and what just happened isn’t right. 

Will stands up and stumbles on shaky legs toward the kitchen. His underwear are wet. Connor is talking to him, but he doesn’t hear it, doesn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears as his hands grab onto the edge of his counter and he leans over his sink to throw up. The magic is gone. All that’s left is pain and fear and disgust and Will has tears on his face.

“Hey, hey, Will? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not gay!”

Connor is quiet, then. Will can feel his presence just a few inches away, wanting to comfort but afraid to touch, his breath still not entirely under control. He doesn’t retort, or bring up what he said when he got here, but just stands there in silence beside Will as he dry heaves over the sink. The smell is awful.

“Let’s get you to bed.” 

The second he touches Will’s back, Will jerks away. “Don’t fucking touch me, fuck, fuck-”

“You need to calm down,” Connor says in his ‘crazy patient’ voice. “Will, just a few minutes ago, you were asking about having real sex. Now, you’re… you need to know that it’s okay to like men, Will. There’s nothing wrong with it, wrong with you.”

“Yes there is! Oh my God. I’m gonna throw up again.”

He just dry heaves for the millionth time. But Connor is still there, and rubs between his shoulder blades until he stops. Then he guides him away, toward the hallway, and opens doors until he finds the bathroom.

“You take a hot shower and calm down. I’m gonna let myself out, and you’ll be on your own. If you need, or want, anything, you can always call me. I’ll cover for you if you wanna call out tomorrow. But really, Will, I promise, there’s nothing wrong with liking men.”

Connor leaves, then, and Will looks at his reflection. His hair is all messy and his cheeks are flushed cherry red. But he also sees what’s not there. Imprints of Connor’s hands on him. He’s dirty. He’s broken. He wants to claw off his skin, make this feeling go away. It would be easier.

Instead, he turns the shower on as hot as it gets, strips off his soiled clothes, and steps beneath the spray. Maybe it’ll clear him. He lets the water wash away what he did, even if it still clings in spite of his best efforts to wash everything away. He did something he shouldn’t have, touched something he shouldn’t have. He’s not fucking gay. If his stomach wasn’t empty, he might throw up all over again.

He scrubs himself raw, three times over, before getting out and surrounding himself in a fluffy bath towel. He walks slow, careful, to bed and buries himself in his covers still not completely dried off. It doesn’t matter. First thing in the morning, he has to go to work, and see Connor, and he knows he won’t be able to stop thinking about what happened tonight, especially if he sees Connor. He should call out.

Instead of doing either of those things, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, it’s because his phone is ringing loudly- not his pager though, which means it’s not the hospital. He smacks it twice before getting a hand around it and sliding the answer button. “Hmm?”

“Hey, I wanted to check on you.”

He damn near throws the phone across the room. ‘What do you want, Connor?”

“Like I said, I wanted to check on you. You seemed pretty freaked out last night, and I uh, I feel bad about it. Thought I should make sure you’re okay. And if you’re up to it, I could come make you breakfast? Eggs, bacon, some orange juice. Maybe pancakes. Whatever you want.”

“Connor.”

“Please, let me? I promise I won’t do anything untoward.”

Will sits up and pushes his hair out of his face. “Okay, but I don’t have anything here.”

“I’ll stop by the store, don’t worry. See you in ten to fifteen.”

Connor hands up, then, and Will is left to think about what this means. Over the last day, things have been confusing, terrifying, wrong. He isn’t sure what happens now. Obviously, Connor is angry with him, and this could very well be an excuse to yell at him or hurt him. The last thing Will should’ve done is say yes. But it’s too late now, so he just forces himself out of bed and puts on clean clothes, runs his hands through his hair to try and tame it. There isn’t time. He doesn’t have time. 

The time goes so quickly, but also too slowly, until someone knocks on his door and he opens it for Connor, arms laden with two grocery bags and dark bags under his eyes like he didn’t sleep last night, like he took this harder than Will did. 

“You’ll have to show me where the dishes are,” Connor says. 

Nothing else. He’s quiet, but proud in the way he stands with his shoulders in a perfect line, the way his torso cuts in slimmer at his waist, the way his hip cocks outward to shut a drawer after pulling a spatula free. He’s cracking the eggs in the blink of an eye, whisking them together in a bowl as he throws butter into the pan, and it feels domestic. Like something that would happen if they loved each other, if they had something worthwhile.

“I-”

“Shush,” Connor says. “I’m making you breakfast, and while you eat, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. Am I clear?”

Will nods and takes a seat at his table to just watch, because he can’t do anything better. Connor fries bacon as he scrambles eggs, humming to himself, too at ease for what happened between them. But it’s peaceful, and Will almost enjoys watching. The smell of something good cooking in his house, the crackling sound of grease, the slow bubble of orange juice poured into a glass. The last time someone cooked for him had to be before he left home.

It only takes a few minutes, but then a plate is served in front of him alongside a glass, and Connor smiles at him before sitting down. He has this urge to kiss him, but Will knows better. He’s not gay. And he’s fucked up enough at one time. So he doesn’t, he just cuts into the egg with his fork and starts eating while Connor studies him closely.

“Obviously, I made a mistake last night. Not because you aren’t attractive, but because it’s clear that you aren’t ready to admit that you’re gay, or bi, or- in whatever capacity- attracted to men. What happened last night, me coming over here, it wasn’t okay. Not for you, and absolutely not for me. It is not my job to coddle you, or show you the ropes, or help you through your crisis. It’s not fair to me.”

It isn’t fair, but Will wants it in a way he can’t entirely understand.

“So I’m not going to keep this up. I’m not going to kiss you, I’m not going to touch you, and I’m certainly not going to provoke you. That livestream, what I said was inappropriate. My actions, both then and everything that came after, weren’t okay, and I’m sorry for that.”

Connor shifts in his seat, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. WIll’s always hated his wallet, because it’s made of that expensive leather and it’s thick and he has all these cards and all this cash in it. Not because of his second job, but because the world has always been in Connor’s back pocket. It’s no wonder he never had to worry about being read as gay.

He pulls out two business cards and sets them on the table in front of Will. One has an icon on it of a heart, half rainbow and half some weird stripe design of blue, pink and white. The other is more professional and sleek.

“These are for people who can help. That one, that’s a support group I went to when I was younger. Maybe sixteen, seventeen. I went for a couple. It’s full of people of all ages, just like you, who are figuring out who they are. And this one is for a really good therapist who helps people struggling with their identity. Some of them are gay, or trans, or just people who are having an identity crisis about who they wanna be when they grow up. Either of them, or both, could really help you. But it isn’t my job, okay? I’ll support you however you want or need, but it isn’t my job to completely get you through this.”

Will picks up the two cards. They’re slick, smooth in his hand. Light as a feather but still incredibly heavy with their meaning. He holds them, looks at the little heart on the first card and wonders what it would be like just to go, just to see other people like him who might be struggling with the same thoughts. 

“What’s the other half of this,” he asks instead of trying to keep processing. “Next to the rainbow.”

“That’s the trans pride flag. You know what that is, I assume?”

“Yeah, I know what being transgender is.”

Connor nods and Will doesn’t know entirely what to do next besides keep eating and stare at the cards.

“Just remember, you don’t have to go through this alone. Me, and the people on these business cards, we’re all family.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is also beelivia


End file.
